Way back in the late 70s, early 80s, when I still had some hair and a much darker beard than today I met a lady. This lady was a lady like no other. No, she did not become Mrs Angry, she became Constable Angry’s Night Duty Prisoner.
North West London. Early hours of the morning, I received a call to a suspected Criminal Damage to a vehicle. The address was that of one of our local doctors. Mad as a box of eccentrics. Slipperier than a slippery thing.
When I arrived she indicated her car, with the remains of one of Tate and Lyle’s finest still visible beneath the petrol filler cap. She had been sugared!!
I gave her all the advice she needed and we retired indoors for me to take down her particulars. At some point in the proceedings Dr Patel’s (for that was surely not her name) husband appeared and he seemed verily most grumpy.
Fear not, this is not heading anywhere near where you might think that it is. I knew Dr Patel. Not in the biblical sense you understand. More like the “Yes Your Worship, I know Dr Patel” sort of way.
Some sharp words passed between them, words I had never heard before, and then a cut glass ashtray whistled past my left ear, passing closer than I felt comfortable with truth be told. No more Mr Nice Guy. “Dr Patel – you’re nicked”
Back at the nick she was booked in, searched and placed in a cell, not without the obligatory struggle. Glad she wasn’t my GP.
Eventually she was charged and bailed and at 6 o’clock Constable Angry went off duty and retired home.
It must have been at least 3 hours later before I was awoken from my slumber by the telephone. It was the nick. Apparently Chief Inspector Jones required my presence in his office and wasn’t prepared to wait. Goody thought I. Recalled off Nights. There has to be some overtime in this.
It has to be said that my arrival at the nick did not seem to improve the good Chief Inspector’s mood any. Apparently Dr Patel had made an allegation against the nasty bearded officer who had arrested her. My protestations that I thought it was quite a nice beard went unheeded, Mr Jones didn’t seem to have an opinion on it. An allegation had been made, a very serious allegation.
Apparently I had stolen something from Dr Patel, something very personal. I assured the boss that I was innocent but he insisted that I would have to submit to my locker being searched. I was a bit pissed off at this affront as my locker was quite obviously bursting with contraband. But searched it inevitably was and no knickers were found that matched the description of those that I had allegedly stolen. Moi?
The truth? She simply hadn’t been wearing any. I know this to be true as I had the ugly end when we put her in the cell.
Oh well, back home to bed. How very dare she insult my beard?
Stealing Knickers from a doctor?
A Job Like No Other, and for me I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.